


Adrenalised

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 12:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8751643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: After the battle, they're both wound.





	

The fear doesn’t go away just because you won. Your body floods with _do or die_ , and that has to go _somewhere_. In the moment, the ones who survive tune those energies into **winning** , instead of flinching.

But now they’re back on his shuttle, and Kylo doesn’t care. He puts up a bubble of _go the fuck away_ around himself, shielding only the Captain from the psychic slurry. Helmets turn from them, and he can push her back into his room. 

It’s small, and it’s functional, but it’s _private_.

Private enough to slam her bodily back into the wall opposite the door, which clinks closed behind them. Grabbing her hands, and forcing her knuckles into the bulkhead. Their masks connect with a _clunk,_ and he breathes raspily into the faceplate.

 _I nearly lost you. We nearly died. It was nearly over_.

She speaks Battle as well as he does, and they both pause for a moment to weigh the situation. A moment, and then their hands are moving with unco-ordinated synchronicity. Thumbs. Clasps. Buckles. Buttons. They throw masks aside, and Kylo’s got his hands around her face so he can pull at her lip with his tongue and teeth. A knee between his thighs, and he gives her the same courtesy. Grinding, pushing the plate of her uniform against her groin. He feels the heated chromium between the layers of fabric, and her neck tastes of salt-sweat as his lips seal below her ear.

He’s a little rougher than he’d normally be, but they both need it. His hands find her waist as he keeps up his travelling: bruising-harsh sucks that lace around her throat like a necklace he’ll never give. She has hold of his hair, keeping him in place, and when he starts to drag her over his thigh she moans in pleasure. It’s too diffuse a touch to get her off, but he knows she’s starting to seep, to drip her readiness between her legs as he drags her across his knee. 

When he doesn’t undress her any more, she works on unfastening herself. Her armour falls off piecemeal, dropping with a thunk as he sinks his teeth around her collarbone and sucks her pulse to thunder. She shoves his hands away, and he grabs under each of her thighs and lifts her. Phasma’s back presses to the wall as she pulls away the groin-plating, and then he pushes his hand into her panties.

Phasma’s arms around his neck hold his head to one side so she can bite and suck at his jaw, and he doesn’t even mind if she bruises his damn face. Tongue through his scar, and her lower lips are already wet. His finger pushes between them, teasing at her clit and making her bounce up and down on his hand. Further back, slicing through her groin, and testing to see–

“ _In_ me,” she insists, and slams onto his hand. “I need it.”  


He pulls away the layers just enough to free his cock, his pants sliding down towards his knees. Kylo pushes the gusset of her panties to one side, and thrusts into her like that, up against the wall.

The angle is awkward, but it somehow makes it all the better. Hands under her thighs again, letting her keep herself in place with his shoulders. A heady snap of his hips into that clenching slot, and he feels so terrified, still. So very afraid, without any direction for that fear to go but up and in. 

Phasma puts a hand between her legs, spreading her neatly-curled labia and rubbing herself with furious speed. It urges him to fuck her faster, and they find a rhythm that works for them both. No need to be courteous or romantic right now: this is about _survival,_ and the adrenaline-lust. About reminding themselves they survived, and he’s almost coming when she shoves his head to her breast and demands he suck.

Lips around a nipple, and he sucks so hard that her pussy tightens, and he drags her more fiercely onto him as he pushes up. Another thrust, another, and she’s pinching her clit with a ferocity that will leave her raw and aching. He’ll kiss her better, later. Lie between her thighs and lick and suck her aching slit, until she comes again. But that’s then, and this is now.

Harder, and he knows her orgasm is nearly there. He nips around her nub, pulling her breast to sway under his mouth as she gets herself off on his dick. The shudder and the cry is enough, and he pulses his release deep inside. Deep, deep inside.

When he’s done, she curls around him. Half-armoured, half not.

Kylo can’t hold her up away from the wall for long moments, but when he can, he carries her to the small cot bed. He’s still inside of her, but softening, when he pushes her down. 

Her fingers still groom his hair, and she’s soft and molten in his hands when he smiles at her. 

“Would you like me to lick you clean?” Kylo offers.  


“Not yet,” she answers. “Just… hold me, first?”  


He nods, and they tangle into one another. They made it. They made it. The fear will go down eventually. They’re _alive_.


End file.
